


you are the string in my bow

by amagpie



Series: start the spark [4]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Comeplay, Dom/sub, Edging, Established Relationship, F/M, Humiliation, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Manhandling, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings, Post Season 4, Praise Kink, Safeword discussion, Squirting, Vaginal Sex, anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 11:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19333492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amagpie/pseuds/amagpie
Summary: Quentin has a plan.Josh and Fen are in Fillory, Kady is off with the hedges, Alice the library, and Julia and Penny are off doing something with something - he swears he was paying attention, but he might have been paying more attention to how much he needed to be paying attention - and Quentin is here. Quentin is here, and Eliot and Margo are available, and the whole damn apartment is going to be free all night, which means Quentin has a plan.Or, well, Quentin has plans to make Eliot and Margo come up with a plan under Quentin’s advisement.They haven’t done a big scene since Margo freaked out, and Quentin just wants to let all the remaining weirdness slip away and let go with his partners. He wants to be pushed in some very specific ways, and maybe if he can offer up his desires first, then they can all get to a more settled place.Also, he hasn’t come in three days, and he’s horny as hell.





	you are the string in my bow

**Author's Note:**

> I tripped and wrote 15k of smut.  
> Title from "Demons" by Dry the River.
> 
> While this is technically part of a series, it will still make sense on its own.

Quentin has a plan.

Josh and Fen are in Fillory, Kady is off with the hedges, Alice the library, and Julia and Penny are off doing something with something - he swears he was paying attention, but he might have been paying more attention to how much he needed to be paying attention - and Quentin is here. Quentin is here, and Eliot and Margo are available, and the whole damn apartment is going to be free all night, which means Quentin has a plan.

Or, well, Quentin has plans to make Eliot and Margo come up with a plan under Quentin’s advisement.

They haven’t done a big scene since Margo freaked out, and Quentin just wants to let all the remaining weirdness slip away and let go with his partners. He wants to be pushed in some very specific ways, and maybe if he can offer up his desires first, then they can all get to a more settled place.

Also, he hasn’t come in three days, and he’s horny as hell.

Quentin is a master of seducing his partners, so when Eliot texts him _what sandwich do you want?_ while he’s running errands, Quentin texts back: _Turkey Swiss. Buy more lube <3 _

He watches the dots on his screen before his phone vibrates with Eliot’s message: _I forget what kind we like._ Success.

For what Quentin has in mind for tonight, he’s had to do some research. In the life he didn’t get to live, he knows he and Eliot had a lot of intense sex, but he’s not sure they really did it right? He has a brief flash of being in his forties with Eliot above him holding him down, and another flash of being younger and just wanting Eliot to tell him what to do so badly. The power shifting would just kind of happen, and they never had a system in place. But now, with Margo, everything is a bit more concrete. And with their boundaries talk fresh in his mind, he’s thinking it might be a good idea to talk again about what they do together.

Memory is strange. There’s maybe five sexy times from their other life that he can remember with any kind of detail, and one of those times doesn’t even involve Eliot. There was that one time in the heart of summer that was so good that he remembers him and Eliot discussing it even years later, the legend of it probably aiding his memory now. And then the time when they were old, and his wrist hurt so much that they had to stop halfway through. It was beautiful. He has no idea if it was actually the last time they were sexual together, not sure if he knew enough to commemorate the last time, but it is his last memory.

Thinking about the weight of that life and the recent weirdness with Margo makes his usual melancholy try to creep in. Quentin allows it to rest inside for a moment, but he won’t let it sweep him adrift. Accept it, and let his thoughts move on.

Distraction time. He’s got partners to seduce and some requests to lay out.

* * *

 

Quentin finishes heating up the taco filling, and passes plates to Eliot and Margo on the other side of the counter. They have a bottle of wine out between them, but only Margo has a glass, her finger tapping against the rim as her and Eliot debate the finer details of an old party.

“That spell should have killed us all,” Margo vehemently defends.

“But it didn’t,” Eliot counters.

“Only because that goth wanna-be stepped in at the last second to shift the circumstances.”

Eliot furrows his brows. “You know, I think that might be the only time I’ve ever seen anybody do location magic.”

“The whole room ended up shifted two feet to the left for the entire night.” Margo quickly explains to Quentin. “Which, might I remind you-“ Margo points her taco in Eliot’s face. “-only went back to normal the next morning because of my ingenious thinking with that limp-dicked contractor.”

“Ugh, he was horrible.” Eliot sympathizes with a touch too much sincerity. Quentin looks at him with a silent bemused question, and Eliot shakes his head.

“Anyway,” Eliot declares, “it was all worth it in the end. The masses got their wild night with no sleep, shit tons of energy, and best of all, no hangover.”

“But at what cost,” Quentin jokes.

“You-“ Eliot throws his napkin at Quentin’s chest. “-weren’t there.”

Quentin catches the half-used napkin and places it next to his plate. “You got me there,” he laughs.

“There’s always a fucking cost with magic,” Margo laments, and the mood feels like suddenly it’s on a knife edge between joyful and maudlin. Eliot pats her hand and takes another bite.

Well, this is probably as good a time as any to change the topic of conversation.

He puts his food down, places both hands on the counter, and starts, “Um.“

Eliot turns to him, but Margo doesn’t even look up from her taco. He gathers his thoughts.

“Hey, I, like, have something I wanna talk about.”

Margo places her food down, and he can see the walls starting to come up behind her eyes and in her posture. It’s frustrating to see and makes him a little sad.

“No, no, like a sex thing. Something fun.”

Margo’s coolness starts to melt, though she still looks a little on guard. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what I want.”

Eliot grins. “Can I just say that I love the sound of that?”

Quentin smiles and continues, “And I guess I wanna say first that I love everything we do together. Like, seriously, both of you are so personally attractive to me, and I like you both so much, and the way that you guys have been domming me has been some of the most life-affirming sex I’ve ever had.”

Eliot reaches across the counter to grasp his hand, and gives him a smile that’s so sweet it’s almost a pout.

“But-“ he laughs at himself at the dramatic build-up. He really doesn’t want them to get the wrong idea. “There’s some stuff I’ve been wanting to push lately.”

He pauses for a moment, and Margo prompts, “Like what?”

“So, I really like when you put me where I need to be or hold me down, but I wanna, like- hmm” It’s hard to phrase correctly. He’s been thinking about this and reading about this for so long, but he hasn’t talked to anyone about these specific desires yet. “I want to be able to fight back and know you’ll still hold me down.”

Eliot’s eyes widen, and he seems to consider it for a moment. “I could do that.” Quentin is always astounded by Eliot’s easy-going nature when it comes to sex. He’s so open to trying whatever fucked up thing Quentin has in mind, and he’s grateful for the consistent lack of judgment.

Eliot’s eyes narrow as he realizes something. “But, uh, you do know you couldn’t fight back too hard with me, with-“ he gestures towards his abdomen.

Quentin looks at him softly. “Yeah, I can fight back gently.”

Eliot squeezes his hand in acknowledgement. “Then, yes, that sounds good to me.”

“It would be hot.” That lynx smile that Margo gets when she’s turned on and going to fuck you up works it’s way on to her face, and Quentin is a little scared and a lot horny.

“Awesome,” Quentin mumbles. “I’ve got a couple more things, though.”

“What, are we gonna need a notebook?” Margo sarcastically questions.

“Anyway,” Quentin continues on. “I love when you don’t let me come.”

Margo laughs. “Understatement of the year.”

Quentin says, “I want more, more of that.”

“More?” Eliot asks.

“Do you want us to keep your little dick soft?” Margo looks way too happy about that prospect.

“Um, no, not right now. Like-“ He’s really wishing he prepped this part of the evening more. Who knew phrasing his desires accurately would be so difficult? “Like, I want you to edge me more, and not let me come, and I want to be able to tell you to stop and you guys not listen.” Aha, that’s it. “I want to beg and have you still tell me no.”

“We kind of do that already?” Eliot says.

“No, like, I know I kind of beg for it and you guys remind me what I asked for, but then if I actually want to come it’s like we end up negotiating mid-scene.” The weight of giving up this power and the vulnerability of showing the fucked up web of his desires feels heady. “I want you to tell me no anyway.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah.”

Margo says, “If we do that, we really need a safeword, Q. We’re not just gonna torture you if you actually do want to come.” There’s a hint in the tone of her voice that makes him think that she doesn’t find that idea as abhorrent as maybe she should, but he appreciates her looking out for his safety all the same.

“Stoplight system,” he says readily. This part he’s come prepared for.

She raises her eyebrows at his quick answer, and Quentin shrugs and clarifies, “Internet.”

“Baby Q’s got depth.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.“ Quentin rolls his eyes.

“And you’ll say stop - or red - if you need us to?” Eliot questions.

“Yes,” Quentin quickly agrees.

Eliot looks between Margo and Quentin. “Then I’m ok with pushing you.”

“Me, too.”

“Cool -um - great then.” That went well. “The last thing is less a kink, and more an observation. No one else is home, right?”

“Julia’s off with Penny, um, who the fuck knows where Kady is, and-” Eliot stops mid-list as he catches on to what Quentin’s putting down. “And who the fuck cares as long as they’re gone.”

Margo slowly says, “So tonight’s the perfect time to try out some of these new kinks of yours.”

Quentin looks at them a bit sheepishly. “Yeah. And maybe, since no one else is gonna be home, you two can fuck me out here, in the living room?”

“I think we could manage that,” Margo answers.

“Wait,” Eliot’s whole face lights up with baffled amusement. “Quentin Coldwater, were you using lube-texts to try to seduce me earlier?”

“Depends. Did it work?”

“You are such a dork.”

* * *

 

After dinner is squared away, Quentin sits in his bedroom, waiting. Margo and Eliot are out there right now, conspiring, figuring out where the night will go and incorporating his desires into an action plan. Quentin fucks around on his phone, but his mind’s focus is on the other room and anticipation pulls behind his gut.

A loud “Quentin!” from Margo in the other room gets his attention, and he hurries out to start the night.

They’ve since moved to the dining table. Quentin pulls out a seat to join them, leg bouncing slightly in anticipation. “Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good. Stop worrying.” Margo says with affection.

“We do have a few things to run by you.” Eliot drops an arm around the back of Margo’s chair, gaze intently focused on Quentin.

Quentin stares at them expectantly, and Margo picks up the conversation.“You may not be coming, but I will be. I want four orgasms minimum tonight, ok? I’m not playing by penis rules: I can come a lot, and I intend to.”

The thought of having to perform to a number makes him a little bit anxious, but he knows she won’t, like, be mad at him if he can’t do it. And it’s her body: if she wants that, she can always make herself come. Quentin nods.

“And now the trickier part,” Margo continues. “I want you to fuck me.”

Any other time in his life, he’d be jumping at the bit for the chance. But lately-

“You want to beg?” Margo leans forward, half-drunk wine glass in her hand. “I -we- want to edge you. A lot. And, honey, I would love to break you in like a wild horse. Can you handle that?”

“Um.” Honestly, he’s not really sure. A lot of the sex they’ve been having lately hasn’t exactly involved extended attention to his dick, so he feels a bit out of practice in terms of stamina.

Eliot reaches across the table, palm up, and Quentin takes his hand. Eliot says, “If not, we can think of something else. But I think it’d be really hot to edge you like that and see Bambi fuck you.”

“Don’t get me wrong, that sounds, like, so hot. It just might be too hot? I feel like I might come from trying to do that.”

“Oh, Q, if you think you’re gonna come tonight, you are sadly mistaken,” Margo drawls. That sends a tingle of wild pleasure down Quentin’s spine. “And, seriously, we won’t let you come. Don’t worry about that.”

“Then, yeah, I’m down.” He gives them a small, tight-lipped smile. “Anything else?”

“Since you want us to tell you no, we should probably decide now whether or not you get to come at the end.”

“Oh.” It always makes Quentin hot talking about this, the decision on whether his body has to go on feeling tight and sensitive but so good, or if he can experience that beautiful peak and relax.

Quentin considers. “Hmm, I don’t really know?” Out of the moment, he can imagine himself feeling so many ways. Maybe he’ll be so strung out that he feels like he needs to come, or maybe he’ll be riding high on the edge and being made to come will feel like failure. He wants to beg and be told no, but he can’t predict how he’s going to feel at the end of whatever Margo and Eliot have prepared.

“Do you actually not know, or do you need time to think on it?” Eliot asks.

“I can’t decide.”

“I have an idea.” Eliot’s fingers start stroking his hand, and Quentin reminds himself to focus on the words coming out of his mouth instead of what those hands might do to him. “How about, at the end, we give you ten seconds to come. If you’re close enough that you can, then that settles it. But if you can’t, then you don’t come tonight.”

Now that is an exciting thought: that this major thing could be completely out of their hands. It’s exhilarating. Just- “and if I do start to come, you won’t stop touching me, right?”

“No, babe, we’ll work you through it.”

Quentin lets out a breath. “Awesome.”

Margo sets her glass on the table with finality and leans back. “Then, let’s begin.”

Quentin grins at her with nerves and excitement. Margo places a quick kiss on Eliot’s cheek, says quiety, “Let me start him up.” She stands, holds a hand out to pull Quentin up and away from the table. He goes willingly but awkwardly.

“Relax.” She pets down his arms soothingly, then wraps her hands in his t-shirt to pull him down to kiss her.

The knowledge that he has no more than a vague idea of what’s to happen settles happily in his gut.

It feels so nice and settling to have Margo working his mouth open like this. Her tongue entwines with his, the kiss alternating between deep and shallow. Margo’s hand works up and into his hair. She grips the strands, pulls just enough to tingle, lets him know who’s in charge and his knees feel weak.

Margo uses her grip on his hair to pull his head to the side, which leaves his neck feeling exposed. She moves in like a predator to lick and suck a bruise into the junction between neck and shoulder. He keeps his hands planted on her sides, but he’s starting to feel like putty in her hands.

He wants her to bite him and pull him apart and control him. He wants her to do everything she wants to him, push him to the maximum of his pleasure so he can do the same for her. He pushes his passion into her mouth, licking into her before letting his teeth close for a moment over her bottom lip. Margo gets the hint and meets him where he’s at. Her lips and teeth and tongue feel like a home he can sink into. She’s smaller than a lot of his previous partners, but her presence feels grand against him.

Margo pulls back, and her lips look red and kiss-swollen. She looks so good to him. She gives him a wicked smile, and then he’s being pulled towards Eliot who kisses him open-mouthed and deep. Quentin still has a hand on Margo, but he reaches his other to run his hand along Eliot’s clothed chest. He runs a finger over Eliot’s nipples through his shirt and hears a sharp inhale and feels Eliot smile against his mouth.

They’re just kissing, only just started, but Quentin feels so good. Safe to his core.

Eliot pulls back for a moment to look into his eyes, and says “Let’s get you naked for us.”

In his haste, Quentin almost trips over his pants, but he eventually succeeds and shucks them off to the side. Margo grabs hold of his shirt and yanks it up and over his head, and he marvels in the feeling of his trapped arms for a moment before she whisks it off. And now here he is, standing naked between them, while they’re still done up in their business casual attire like the high kings they are. It makes Quentin feel suddenly small, submissive, vulnerable. It’s good, but it’s also a lot.

Eliot kisses him again and pulls him close while Margo kisses along his shoulders. The abject vulnerability fades and it turns into the purely good kind, where he can be sandwiched between two people he adores.

Quentin feels a hand close around his cock, and given its size he can only assume it’s Eliot’s. The first touch makes him gasp, makes him harden against them.

Eliot pulls his mouth away, and Quentin is lost in the sensation of just his hand until Eliot teases, “You’re dripping on the floor.”

Quentin opens his eyes and looks down, and, damn, yeah his cock is already leaking precome and a couple drops have ended up on the floor between them. “Oops.”

“Lick it up,” Eliot commands.

Margo’s clutches his chest in excitement, and Quentin seriously considers for a moment. It could be hot, if embarrassing. But then he thinks about their friends walking all over the floor day in and day out and - “Ugh, no, too many feet on this floor.”

Eliot takes the no in stride, and if he’s disappointed he doesn’t show it. After a quick tut to float over a paper towel - which kind of makes Quentin feel like a dog in an unsexy way- Eliot runs his hand along Quentin’s half-hard cock to gather precome. He brings it to Quentin’s mouth, holding his palm up. “Lick.”

This Quentin can do without qualms. Holding eye contact until the moment he meets skin, he licks his mess off Eliot’s hand. Whereas seeing the mess on the floor made him self-conscious in a bad way, this feels more freeing, less embarrassing.

“Good boy.”

Ok, so maybe it’s still a little embarrassing, but in the joyfully dirty way that makes his skin hot and his cock hard.

Objectively, Quentin knows this is kind of gross. But he just likes it. And that sends another hot thrill of embarrassment through him.

He keeps licking Eliot’s hand past the point where his precome is gone. Transfixed, Eliot pulls his bottom lip down with a finger, brings a firm hand to the back of Quentin’s head to hold him in place, and pushes two fingers into Quentin’s mouth, pushing down on the back of his tongue. Quentin lets out a startled moan at the movement. It just feels so hot to suck on Eliot’s fingers like they’re his cock, trying to lick and suck and please him just to show him he can, not for any explicit pleasure on Eliot’s part.

Eliot keeps Quentin’s head steady while he fucks his mouth with his fingers, and, oh, Quentin thinks he still has enough brainpower to see what Margo and Eliot are trying to do. He’s feeling so submissive now, like maybe he can let go soon and just feel and act and let Eliot and Margo do what they want with him. And all it took was Eliot’s hands and their mouths.

“I’ll be right back,” Margo announces, pressing a quick kiss to Quentin’s shoulder.

“How about we get you ready for her,” Eliot says.

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, and wraps his spit-slick hand around Quentin’s cock. Quentin steadies himself by gripping Eliot’s biceps and breathes deep, letting the pleasure wash through him.

“We need you hard tonight,” Eliot coaxes, and Quentin lets himself unwind, lets his pleasure overtake him and his body do what it wants. Because he’s safe in Eliot’s hands, and he knows that Eliot will coax his body into what it needs to be.

“This feels so good.” Quentin can’t help but let him know.

“We’re just getting started.”

“I know.” He’s just so damn excited for what’s to come, been looking forward to it all day. He’s never had a partner he could completely let go with, submit to, let alone two.

Eliot smiles fondly at him and leans down to kiss him. And now he really feels safe: his boyfriend kissing his mouth open while he jerks him off so that he can fuck their girlfriend. How is this his life?

Quentin might not have noticed Margo coming back if she hadn’t announced it with a light tap on his ass.

“Alright, loverboy, still down to fuck me?” Margo asks him.

Quentin breaks away from Eliot’s comforting lips and says, “Yeah. Just-“ his body curves towards Eliot as he rubs his hand over the sensitive head of Quentin’s cock. “It’s a lot.”

Margo kisses him. “I’ll take care of you.”

And he believes her. After the slight weirdness of the past few weeks, it feels good to trust her with this again.

Quentin takes a steadying breath and says, “Ok. How do you want me?”

Margo has to slap Eliot’s hand to get him to stop touching him, and gestures over to the couch where she’s laid down the towel she must have disappeared to get. “You’re gonna do all the work, honey.”

“I can do that.”

Margo nods and pulls her pants and underwear down and off without shame. Quentin helps get her top off, and he can’t help himself but brush her bra-clad breasts before she reaches behind herself to get it off. She strides to the couch and lays herself back on the towel. “Well, come on, let’s go.”

Quentin grabs Eliot’s hand and leads him over to the couch. He wasn’t really thinking about any place in particular he wants him, just that he wants him close, so he’s grateful when Eliot decides for him and sits next to Margo.

Eliot pats Margo’s thigh and directs at Quentin, “I’ll be watching, so be good.”

Quentin nods and laughs, “Yes, sir.”

Margo slaps his hip to get his attention. “Hey, you’re listening to me now, ok?”

Quentin pulls his gaze back to Margo laid out beautifully in front of him. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s better.”

Margo’s hands move quickly through the contraceptive spell, her fingers working beautifully through each position.

“Now fuck me.”

Quentin is all too eager with his dick so hard and wet, but he makes sure to run his fingers through Margo’s folds to feel how wet she is. He slips a finger inside and curls up against her g-spot, and he can feel how she relaxes against him.

“You’re very considerate, but fuck me.” Margo wraps her legs around his hips to pull him in closer, and he finally takes the hint. It’s been awhile since he’s been inside her, and for a moment he’s nervous he’s not going to be good enough. But then she pulls him in closer with her legs, and he doesn’t have room to be nervous anymore. He just has to please her. She’ll make sure he does a good job at that.

Quentin steadies his cock and pushes inside Margo.

The first slide in feels so good and overwhelming - the tight heat of her clenching around his cock. For a split second he feels like a virgin again. But he knows she won’t laugh at him - or at least not unless he wants her to.

Suddenly he wants to kiss her so badly, but the angle doesn’t really allow for that, so he settles with caressing her stomach as he pulls out and pushes his cock back inside.

Quentin works up a rhythm. He tries not to focus too much on his own pleasure, but it’s hard when the wet heat of her feels so good and his cock is aching. He has to grip her tighter to fuck her harder, and he can feel the sweat starting to gather at the base of his neck and back.

Through Quentin’s peripheral vision, he can see Eliot has his cock out beside them, stroking slowly and watching Quentin put on a show. It makes him want to be as good as he can be for them.

Quentin may be fucking her, but he can trust that Margo will tell him exactly how to please her. He never has to guess on if he’s good or not: if he’s not, she’ll tell him how to be better. And if he is, she’ll let him know.

“Fuck me slower,” she commands, and he’s helpless to obey. “I want to feel you slide into me.”

“You can feel me?”

“Oh yeah, Q, I can feel you being so good for me.”

She leans up to grab his chin and holds his gaze before saying, “You better let me know if you’re gonna come.”

It’s not exactly a question, but he nods his head anyway.

Margo lets herself fall back against the couch and says, “Make me come.”

Quentin pushes into her at a steady slow pace, trying to angle his hips up to rub against the sensitive spot inside. Quentin rubs her clit in tight circles, letting her just lay back and enjoy while he does all the work of getting her off. He wants so badly to make her come before edging for the first time, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. The slower pace makes it easier, but he can still feel his pleasure climbing towards a peak.

“Press harder, baby, I’m really close.”

Quentin presses his hand against her harder while he fucks deep, and he can feel her start to tremble. As she starts to come around him, the pressure is just too much and he has to still himself inside her. He makes sure to keep up his hand movements, but he just can’t fuck her through it without coming himself. And he wants to be good.

Margo relaxes further into the couch, her legs loosening from around his hips while her pussy clenches randomly around him.

“Did he do a good job?” Eliot asks.

“Definitely,” Margo sighs. Her eyes fly open to meet his gaze. “But he’s not done yet.”

She shoos his hand away from her and starts to rub her own clit. Her legs tremble with overstimulation, but she commands him, “Keep fucking me, Q.”

“Yeah, ok, definitely.” He pulls out and pushes back in, and even though his pleasure had a chance to abate, it still feels like so much. He knows he’s not going to last to make Margo come again.

He tries to fuck into her at the same steady pace as before, but he can’t help the twitching of his hips as he gets closer and closer to the edge. “C’mon,” Margo spurs him on, and he’s trying so hard to hold on, but it’s too much and he’s right there and-

He frantically lets out, “I’m going to come, please-“ and he knows he’s pleading with them to stop him, but he doesn’t have the brain power to clarify.

“Stop.” Luckily, Margo knows exactly what he needs. He pauses inside her and closes his eyes against the onslaught of sensation. He’s right there, and he knows if he could push into her for just a little longer he’d get there. Instead, he breathes through it and lets his orgasm slip away so that they can keep playing with him.

Ok, he feels like he has more of a handle on himself again. He feels Margo’s pussy clench around him, and opens his eyes to see her still rubbing her clit lightly.

He looks over to Eliot, and is startled at the extreme fondness and heat Eliot is sending his way. Is that what Quentin looks like when he looks at them?

“I’m not at the edge anymore, I can move.”

“Go ahead,” Margo encourages. And so he pushes inside her again, and oh, he feels so turned on still but still determined to make this good for her.

Margo looks up at him, and he can see the softness that she doesn’t always let out. “Quentin, you’re being really good. Just remember, don’t come. Let me know when you’re getting close.”

“I’m already close,” he lets out along with a frenzied laugh.

“Then closer. Do you feel like you’re on the edge again?”

He thrusts into her again and takes a moment to assess. No. He’s still so horny and hard but he’s not going to come in the next five seconds. “No, I’m ok.”

“Then fuck me like you mean it.”

Confident now that he’s not going to come immediately, Quentin works his hips in a faster pace to fuck Margo how she wants. He’s brave enough to keep his eyes open while he does it, and he’s overrun by adoration at the sight of Margo spread out beneath him, breasts bouncing with each push of his hips, hand working over her clit, face screwed up in pleasure. She’s beautiful.

“Just a little more and I’m gonna come again. Still good?”

“Still good,” he grunts as he keeps working to be good for her.

“Keep going I’m almost- I’m almost there-“ Margo cuts herself off with a moan as her legs shake and her walls clench around him. The sight of her coming turns him on so much, and his body wants to follow her over the edge but he can’t.

He’s not too close to fuck her through this one, so he tries to push into her as much as he can while she comes hard around him. This one feels like it goes on even longer than the first, and he starts to doubt his stamina as aftershocks keep working through her and over his dick. But he fucks her slow if not steady, trying his best to please her.

She doesn’t tell him to stop, so he keeps going. He feels almost lost in it, like suddenly he could fuck her for hours without coming once.

Beneath him, Margo runs her fingers over her pebbled nipples while she catches her breath.

“Well, fuck,” Margo grunts out.

She still hasn’t said stop, and she seems to be enjoying herself, so Quentin keeps pushing into her with small thrusts. With each one he can feel her legs shaking and see her tummy twitch. It’s hot and amazing, and she’d probably kill him for even thinking it, but very cute.

Quentin had kind of lost track of Eliot through all this, and somehow he’s still mostly clothed next to them and looks so put together, even with his cock red and hard in his fist.

Eliot tucks Margo’s hair behind her ear and presses a short kiss to her forehead. “Are you ok, Bambi?”

“I am fucking peachy.” She turns away from Quentin to gaze at Eliot. “He’s being really good for me.”

Quentin’s hips stutter at the praise, and Margo laughs.

“Just checking,” Eliot declares. He flicks his wrist and says, “Carry on.”

Margo slides her hot gaze back on him, and he feels excited and nervous at the new focus behind her eyes. “Get closer to me,” she beckons.

It’s a little awkward, but he manages to kneel up on the cushions so that she’s stuck between his body and the backing of the couch. He has to thrust up instead of in to get inside her, but she’s able to clutch him close to her. He folds his arms around her back and buries his face in her shoulder.

Margo pets his hair and whispers, “Fuck me, Q.”

He tries. He really tries to fuck her hard and deep and fast the way she deserves, but he’s so close and his hips won’t stop twitching out of his control, and he feels so much and he can only whine in absolute pleasure and frustration.

“Stop,” Margo says loud enough to push through the fog of his brain, and he doesn’t even hesitate to still his hips immediately.

Margo runs her fingers through his hair, and he sucks on her shoulder while he comes down from the edge.

“Good, good, let it slip away.”

That coming from her, who just came explosively two times, feels like the hottest and most unfair soothing ever.

He keeps his body still and inside her, and breathes himself away from the edge.

“Again,” Margo commands.

Quentin takes a steadying breath and pushes up into her. He starts slow and cautious, but eventually gets back to the heaving pace he was able to do before. But he hardly had any time to recover, so now he’s back at the edge so quickly.

“I’m- I’m-“ he can’t form the words, so he smacks his hand against her back to try to let her know that he’s too damn close.

She gets it, and tells him, “Stop.” His hips still immediately, and he almost feels like he might cry with how good it feels.

He’s surrounded by Margo as he comes down again, her body folded around him and he around hers. He remembers Eliot sitting next to them. If he opens his eyes, he might see Eliot gazing rapturously at them, and Quentin doesn’t know if he can handle that right now.

“Can you give me more, Q?” Margo says next to his ear, and he pulls back to look her in the eyes.

He gives her an emphatic, “Yes.” He’ll do anything for her.

Her hand grabs the back of his neck, and he whines. “Tell me when you’re close.”

He nods, tries to prepare himself for the pleasure he’s about to feel, but he knows nothing’s going to compare to the feeling of thrusting inside Margo. “Go.”

At her word, Quentin thrusts inside, and he feels like he might be losing time. Everything narrows down to Margo around him, her body, her pussy, her command. She grits out, “Harder, baby, harder if you can.” He tries with all his might to pound up into her the way she asks, tries to be good. It’s so damn much and he wants her and he loves her and he would do whatever he could to make her feel good.

At some point she must have wriggled a hand between them, because she’s shaking apart again, and he can’t believe she’s coming again and it’s mostly because of him. He feels so lucky that he can be this for her, that she can use his cock and his body to get off. She’s the one coming, but he feels like his eyes are going to roll up into his head in vicarious pleasure.

“Fuck,” she moans as she must reach her peak. He can feel pound against his back, her whole body tense until it suddenly relaxes in his hold. “Stop, stop.”

He stills.

Margo keeps a firm hand on the back of his neck and searches his face, and he can barely control his body let alone his facial expressions, so he has no idea what she’s seeing.

“This is amazing.” Her eyes are sparkling like she can’t believe she could feel this good. He gets that.

Earlier, he said he wanted to be able to beg, able to say whatever he wanted in the moment without them taking it too seriously, so he lets himself beg, “Please let me come.”

Margo caresses his cheeks and soothes, “Aww, poor baby.”

“Please,” he can’t help the plaintive tone that slips into it, but he knows they won’t judge him for it.

“No, you’re not going to come.”

He whines even though he knows it’s exactly what he wants to hear.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Eliot asks from his sprawl next to them.

Quentin nods.

Margo says, “That’s good, baby. Stay right there. You’re gonna fuck me one more time, ok? And then we’ll give your dick a break.”

He makes some kind of noise that’s supposed to be acknowledgement and frustration and love. He’s not really surprised that Margo doesn’t accept that as a go ahead.

“Are you good to keep going?” Margo presses him for a real answer.

He can do this, he can totally make words right now. “Yeah.” Perfect.

“Then get to it,” she nudges, and he starts tentatively moving his hips again. He gains confidence that he’s not going to fall over the edge as soon as he moves, but he still feels so close.

His breathing is getting shallow and frantic as he pushes up into Margo, but she keeps a firm hold on his neck to tether him.

Quentin’s mind narrows down to _I want to come, please don’t let me come, please, I want Margo to come_.

It’s overwhelming, but he feels safe to desire all he wants, because he knows Margo and Eliot will pull him back.

He’s close, close, close, and then suddenly he feels too goddamn close. “I can’t, please-“ he whimpers.

He feels a hand on his hip, and Eliot’s the one to firmly say, “Stop.”

Quentin’s buried deep, and he feels way too close to the edge for comfort. It’s like he’s right there, and if he lets himself, he could fall right over the edge and come inside Margo. Fuck, even thinking that pushes him too close. He lets his mind go blank and breathes. He focuses on the gentle touch of Eliot stroking his hip and Margo stroking his shoulder.

Margo’s clenches around him, and he freezes, “Fuck, no-“ he doesn’t want to come but he’s just so damn close.

Margo shushes him and relaxes more fully around him. He can’t take it, but he’s afraid if he tries to pull out then he’ll actually come.

Eliot stands behind him now, and he feels bracketed in by the tall line of him pushing firmly against him. His hands join Margo’s, and he tries soothing him, too. “You’re good, you’re not going to come. Calm down.”

Quentin clenches his fingers against Margo’s back and chants, “Please, please please, please,” into her shoulder.

“No, you’re not coming,” she says firmly. He suddenly remembers the stoplight system, remembers that if he wanted to, he could end this right now and come. He doesn’t want to.

He forces his body to relax. His head drops against Margo’s shoulder, and his clenched hands open. Once he’s accepted it, it feels like all the frenzy drains out of him. He’s still so close, but he’s not aching for release any longer.

“Good,” Eliot praises as he rubs his shoulders. “Can you pull out now?”

Quentin nods dreamily. He pulls his cock out like ripping off a band-aid.

Eliot caresses his cheek before moving away towards the kitchen. Margo pushes Quentin’s shoulder, and he lets himself tip to the side and settle against the couch. His dick is hard and his mind is jelly.

Margo cuddles against his side, rubs a hand along his chest, and he notices Eliot coming back holding two glasses of water. Oh yeah, he is really thirsty.

“Drink up.” Eliot hands him a glass, and Quentin is proud that he has the wherewithal to hold it, bring it to his lips, and sip.

As he starts to come back to himself, he becomes a little embarrassed by his hard cock. But then he notices Eliot is also very much still hard, and he seems to be pantsless but still wearing a shirt.

“Why are you still wearing a shirt?”

Eliot laughs and slips his button up off his shoulders. “Better?”

Quentin’s eyes slide to the scar on Eliot’s abdomen, then flick back up to focus on his face.

Quentin’s not proud of the grabby-hands he makes at Eliot to get him to join them on the couch, but, oh well. Eliot settles in to Quentin’s other side and Quentin lets himself just be for a moment.

Eliot and Margo chat over him, but he’s not really paying attention. He’s come back from the edge, but he’s aware that he’s close enough still that any little touch could get him there again. Margo and Eliot are just petting him lightly, not even touching anywhere particularly erogenous, but it feels so good. Eliot rubs his hand down his leg and squeezes his thigh, and Quentin feels it in his dick. Margo circles his nipple with her finger and the touch is so light that he can barely feel it, but it still works in tandem with Eliot’s touches to keep him feeling turned on. It’s freeing to know that he doesn’t have to pay attention right now: Eliot and Margo will clue him in if they need something from him.

His attention tunes back in when he hears his name: “-Quentin’s mouth is going to be perfect.” Eliot.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to wait too long to come again,” Margo says.

“Bambi, I want you to have all the pleasure in the world. I would also very much appreciate getting my dick sucked before I explode. You already had your turn.”

“We both get multiple turns, that’s the beauty of us. Let’s just share. You take his mouth for a bit then I’ll grab him.”

“And you’ll play fair?”

There’s silence for a moment, and then they’re both laughing, and Quentin can’t help but chuckle along at the absurdity of this moment and his life. Margo says, “Fuck no, but when has that ever stopped us?”

“I call first!” Eliot speeds through, and then Margo is really laughing.

“Fine! Take him, do what you want.”

Quentin feels Eliot’s hand caressing his face, and he opens his eyes, lets his head fall sideways on the couch, and gazes. “Hey.”

“Hey, Q,” Eliot speaks softly. “How are you doing?”

“I feel amazing.”

“Are you good to keep going? That looked really intense.”

“It was,” Quentin smiles. “Did you know Margo is really good at this?”

Eliot looks across him at Margo with a sweetness, “Yeah she is.”

“You bet your ass I am,” Margo crows.

“So you’re good?” Eliot checks in again.

He’s so fucking good that he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. “Definitely. I feel like I could race a triathlon.”

Eliot’s eyebrows raise slightly, but his grin stays firmly in place. “No one is gonna ask you to do that, Marathon Man. But I am gonna have you suck my dick.”

That sounds like exactly the type of thing he wants to do next. Only- “I have to move, don’t I?”

Eliot considers their positions for a moment and unfortunately comes to the decision that “Yes, you’re gonna have to move.”

Since he’s already slouching on the couch, he lets himself slide down and off it until his ass is on the floor and he can right himself onto his hands and knees. Another full-proof seduction technique by Quentin Coldwater. Once he’s on his knees, he looks up and actually takes in his surroundings again. Eliot is finally naked and sitting tall and powerful with his legs spread and his hard cock standing. Just looking at it makes his mouth water. Margo’s spread out a bit too, moving closer to Eliot and spreading her legs. Her pussy is so red and wet and open and - oh god, she’s probably wet with her own juices and his precome. He can’t wait to get his mouth on her. He can’t wait for both of them to direct him how they please without focusing on his own pleasure at all.

Eliot wraps his hand around the back of Quentin’s head and guides him forward. “Open your mouth,” he gently commands, and Quentin obeys.

Eliot starts by gently guiding his cock to Quentin’s lips. He pulls him forward until just the head is inside and Quentin can run his tongue along the sensitive underside. Like the taste of his own come, Quentin knows that objectively this should taste gross. But he just likes it. He likes the indescribable taste of Eliot. Right now, the taste is limited to the tip of his tongue, but he knows that by the end of this it’ll be in the back of his mouth, too, inescapable.

Eliot strokes his cock while Quentin worships just the head. He looks up at him, and he looks so big from this angle. He hears Eliot groan above him, and he wants to touch himself but stops. He can be good, he can keep his hands where they are until someone tells him otherwise.

“A little more,” Eliot goads him on, and Quentin slips further down his cock.

Eliot’s words sound like Quentin is the one controlling this, but he can only move as far as his grip on his hair allows him. He bobs his head over about half his cock, Eliot’s hand guiding him up and down at the pace he wants. The weight of him feels so good in his mouth, and he wishes he could suck all of him down.

“Coldwater, you look obscene with a cock in your mouth,” he hears Margo say above him, and flicks his gaze over to her to see her watching. A thrill of arousal and embarrassment rushes through him at her words. He has to remind himself that this is good, this is what he wants, he’s allowed to be slutty or dirty with Margo and Eliot, because they’ll either meet him there or push him further. There’s no judgement even if they tease him.

“Be nice, Bambi.” Eliot sounds out of breath. “He’s doing such a good job.”

“I know he’s good. Obscene in a good way. Decadent. You look like you were made to be on your knees, Quentin.”

He can’t pull off Eliot’s cock, so he can’t respond; all he can do is take in the praise, the comments, and let them keep his dick hard as he sucks on Eliot’s cock. Quentin moans around him.

“You love this,” Eliot says with wonder. He really does. He wants more, wants to take him deeper. He pushes forward, challenging Eliot’s grip in his hair. Eliot yanks him back, and the resulting tingle of pain in his scalp and knowledge that Eliot is going to put him where he wants him sends a bolt of arousal straight to his cock. He hums his pleasure around Eliot’s cock, and he hears a quiet, “Fuck,” above him.

Guiding him with his hand, Eliot slowly pulls Quentin further down his cock. He stops when he hits the back of Quentin’s throat, and just keeps him there for a moment. Quentin breathes through his nose and savors the stretch, how absolutely surrounded he feels. Eliot keeps him down for a full ten seconds, and Quentin rests his hands on Eliot’s thighs to ground himself.

Quentin almost wishes he could stay like this forever.

The moment is broken when Eliot pulls him back off his cock. Quentin coughs for a moment, but quickly open his mouth again to let him know he’s ready for more.

He doesn’t have to wait for Eliot to pull him down, stopping again right at the back of his throat. He feels the phantom of his gag reflex try to act up but breathes through it to let Eliot do what he wants with him. He has no leverage, no control in this, only his tongue can move of its own accord to pleasure him, and that thought makes him want even more.

Mostly, he wants Eliot to fuck his face.

He breathes deep and tries to push forward again, but Eliot is ready for him and holds him taught right where he is. He whines, and now that Eliot’s deeper it must travel through him even more.

Eliot tightens his pull on his hair and tells him, “I love the enthusiasm, babe, but I decide how deep I fuck you.”

Quentin whines at the clear confidence in his voice. Fuck, he can’t move. Eliot only has a hand on him, but he can’t move off his dick or down his dick without his say-so. It’s hitting him how powerless he is. It stirs something deep inside him that makes him want to please his partners more than he wants any pleasure himself.

Eliot pulls him off his cock again, and he gasps. A trail of spit connects his mouth to the tip of Eliot’s dick. He tries to catch his breath, but it’s hard when he wants so much. His brain can’t come up with any kind of witty comment or banal observation, all he can do is stare up at Eliot and wait for him to give him more.

Eliot pulls him back down and starts up a faster pace, making him bob his head as deep as he can get without actually deepthroating all of him. He wants to be better, wants to show him what he can do, but Eliot won’t let him. Spit slips out of his mouth and down his chin, and he feels filthy and messy with the sign of his service. He wants to be good, he wants to be good, he wants to be good.

“I call my turn,” Margo says, and Quentin is almost disappointed that he has to stop sucking Eliot. But then he looks over and sees her glistening cunt, and he remembers that now he gets to get lost in her, too.

Eliot pulls his head back by his hair, and tells him, “you’re going to be good and messy for her, too.”

“Yes,” he hisses out.

Eliot pats his cheek, says, “Have fun,” and lets go of his hair.

Without a hand holding him back, Quentin dives into Margo’s cunt. He licks up along her folds, savoring the taste of him and her mixed together.

“Eager is working for me, Quentin. Just get your mouth on my clit.”

When Quentin traces circles around her clit, Margo closes her legs around his head. Surrounded, he pushes his tongue more firmly against her, tries to please her as much as he’s able. She’s already come three times, but he would gladly make her come over and over again on his tongue or his cock.

He can’t see anything from where he’s buried his face against her, but he can hear the faint sounds of Eliot jerking himself off again. He hopes he waits to come for Quentin.

Quentin wiggles a hand up to slide into Margo, and he’s surprised by how easily he slips in. He probably shouldn’t be with how much he fucked her, but it’s still hot and exciting for him to easily slide one, then two fingers inside. He curls them against her while he licks, and he hears her smack the couch and let out a long, “Fuck.”

“Q, baby, suck my clit,” she directs him. He latches his lips around her and sucks lightly. God, he feels like he’s blowing her. He has no idea how long he keeps up the steady pressure of his hand inside her and his mouth around her, long enough for his hand to feel like it might start cramping, but eventually her legs tremble around him, and her walls clench his fingers in spasms, and her legs clamp down tight around his head, and -

Oh my god, Margo’s squirting.

She gushes against his mouth, into his mouth, and he keeps sucking and fucking into her and she’s moaning so loud above him. Quentin’s never in his life experienced this, he didn’t even think it was really possible. The towel under Margo may have soaked up most of it for her, but Quentin’s face is drenched with it. And he’s still licking her because she hasn’t pulled him away, and fuck his tongue is getting tired but this may be the hottest thing he’s ever experienced so he’ll be damned if he stops now.

“Oh my god, oh my god, keep going, keep going,” Margo chants above him, and he fucks and sucks her until she clenches around him again, pussy gushing just a bit more against his face.

When she unclamps her legs from around his head, Quentin falls back on his ass and catches his breath. “Wow.”

Margo gives him a shrewd look. “You’re not weirded out, right?”

“Fuck, no.” He absent-mindedly reaches up to wipe his face, but stops himself; he wants to leave himself wet with her. “I had no idea you could do that.”

“Bambi’s full of surprises.” Eliot looks just about as shocked as Quentin initially felt, his eyes wide and a half-amused smile on his face.

Margo takes a deep breath in, and then just says, “Fuck.”

Eliot takes a moment, then turns his attention fully back to Quentin. “Since Margo’s down for the count, I’m gonna fuck your face.” A shudder goes down his spine. “She did such a lovely job of making you wet for me.”

Margo raises her middle finger in Eliot’s general direction.

Quentin slides back over to Eliot and rises to his knees again. He might be aching tomorrow, but right now he doesn’t care.

Eliot bends in half to press a light kiss to his lips, and teases, “You are drenched.”

Quentin smiles widely, too turned on to be embarrassed by something as simple as giving Margo pleasure. Let her spill her juices all over him, he doesn’t mind.

“Ready?”

“Yes, please.”

Eliot grabs the back of his neck and feeds him his cock.

Eliot thrusts to the back of his throat straight away, and Quentin settles into the faster rhythm. He tries to breathe through his nose, but he can’t get steady breaths at the onslaught. Margo’s juices still cover him, and he can feel his spit slide out of his mouth again. He’s going to be a mess by the end of this.

Suddenly, Eliot pulls him off his cock and Quentin gasps for breath. “Sorry,” he whispers, and Quentin barely knows what it’s about. He moves his head to the side and holds his cock against his lips, giving him another break, and Quentin does his best to lave his tongue and lips over the side of Eliot’s cock. “You’re doing so well.”

Quentin finally realizes how tightly Eliot is holding himself and how hard he is. He’s been hard the same length of time as Quentin and he must be so close.

He has to let him know, has to let him know that he sees him and it’s ok. “Please come, I just want to make you feel good.” He whispers it like a prayer against his cock, and Eliot groans above him.

A certain kind of Eliot’s control breaks, and he says, “I’m gonna give you what you want, ok? Just let me-“

Eliot guides him back to the head and slips his cock inside his mouth. He pulls him down slow again, letting him get used to the feeling of him pressing deep.

Then, he loosens his hold on his hair and says, “Take me deeper.”

Fuck yes, he can do this. He changes the angle a little bit and lets Eliot slide deeper into his throat, past his gag reflex, down into the wet heat of him. He can barely breathe around his girth. Fuck, Eliot’s big. He wants to take him all the way inside, wants to slam himself down until his nose presses against him and his balls slap his chin, but he figures he shouldn’t. He wishes Eliot would make him.

“That’s really good.” Eliot runs his hand over his ear. “Suck me off.”

Quentin moans around his dick as he pulls back just enough to run his tongue over the head of him, then pushes himself back down deeper. He sets up a rhythm that he can manage, long enough down to make Eliot feel it, then back to the head. Eliot’s fingers jack off the base of himself and meet his lips every so often, and Quentin feels lost in it. He wants him to come so much. Margo came so many times, and he just wants Eliot to come at least once for him.

“Stay there,” Eliot commands, and Quentin pauses with his lips wrapped around the head. He jerks off and Quentin does his best to please the tip, focusing on the bottom until Eliot says, “I’m gonna come. Let me on your face, Quentin.”

He’s going to be so goddamn messy. He nods, mouth still filled with dick, and Eliot pulls out to jerk off. Quentin tilts his head up and closes his eyes, and he feels the hot thick ropes of Eliot’s come land on his face.

It goes on so long, rope after rope landing across his forehead, his cheek, a bit on his chin. Some must get a little too close to his eye because he feels a thumb swipe along underneath one. He risks opening them, and he’s met with the glorious sight of Eliot’s spent cock. Quentin kind of feels like he came himself.

Eliot thumbs Quentin’s spit-, come-, and pussy-soaked chin and says, with all the sincerity in the world, “Thank you.”

Quentin smiles. “Uh, you’re welcome. Thank you.”

Quentin looks over and sees Margo curled up on her side, watching them with an affectionate expression that Quentin has been privy to more and more over the past couple of months.

“Wow,” Quentin breathes.

Eliot grabs his wrist and pulls him up, and Quentin goes where he’s led. “I need you closer,” Eliot whispers half to himself as he tugs him close. He’s manhandled into a cuddle position, his head pressed against Eliot’s chest and his legs sprawled over him. His cock is still mostly hard, but he’s perfectly ok with ignoring it for the time being.

And he knows they haven’t said it with Margo yet, knows that the balance isn’t quite right as of now, but Quentin feels it and he wants to say it. He mumbles against Eliot’s shoulder, “I love you.”

Eliot presses a kiss to his head, taps his back three times, and he knows he heard.

“Do you still want more?”

“That’s not it? But- you both came-“

“I could go again in a bit. Margo...?”

“I’m out,” Margo announces, draining the rest of her glass of water. “You did such a good job, Q, I am completely fucked out.”

“Fucked out looks fantastic on you, Bambi.”

Margo spreads out, preening under the attention. “I know.”

“Now,” Eliot announces and turns to Quentin. “You still haven’t gotten sufficiently manhandled, but I definitely need some more time before I can get it up again. So how do you feel about me edging you some more?”

“Good, like really good.”

Eliot runs his hand from his hair to his wet cheek, and oh right he’s covered in come. He’d forgotten. He lifts his head up, and there’s definitely a wet spot on Eliot’s chest. Kind of gross, but Quentin likes that they’ve marked him and he’s marked Eliot in return.

Eliot softly says, “Gross.”

“Don’t be rude,” Quentin half-jokes back, but he also feels a tingle of actual discomfort.

Eliot starts to laugh and placates, “Sorry, it was so hot in the moment but now you look like you were actually drowning in pussy.”

Quentin untangles himself from around Eliot. “Ok, you can fuck off. I’m washing this off.”

“No, it looks good,” Eliot deadpans, and Quentin has no idea if he means it, but he’s not waiting around to find out.

* * *

 

In the bathroom, Quentin washes his face.

A tiny sliver of anxiety feels like it’s trying to work its way through him. He felt wild with his desires earlier and he doesn’t want to feel ashamed about any of them. He can tell himself that Eliot didn’t actually mean anything by it, but Quentin feels so reactive sometimes and he hates it. He just wants to feel good and happy and not have bad feelings creep in like they’ve always done. It’s really frustrating.

And he hates that technically Eliot caused him to feel like this, and he hates that he feels vulnerable right now. As silly as it feels to think, if anyone should be embarrassed, it’s them; it’s their come all over him.

Quentin dries his face, braces himself against the sink, and takes deep breaths. He’s ok. This doesn’t have to be the start of an anxiety attack, this doesn’t have to ruin the night. Although thinking of that possibility almost sends him spiraling, but he takes another breath and tries to accept what he’s feeling. Ok. He’s not going to fall apart, he just feels a little uneasy. That’s fine, that’s fixable. He’s ok.

When he reenters the living room, he’s struck by the sight of his partners cuddling together on the couch. They’re laughing about something, and Eliot has Margo tucked into his side. It makes his heart hurt with how much he loves them.

They look up when he gets closer, and Eliot must see something in his expression because the mirth in his eyes bleeds into concern. “Q?”

Quentin tries to smile, but he doesn’t feel as lighthearted anymore. He can’t just will his feelings away no matter how much he doesn’t want to ruin the night.

Eliot extricates himself from Margo’s limbs and moves towards him. He places his hands around the back of Quentin’s head then pulls him to his chest in a tight hug. Quentin settles into the moment, letting the feel of Eliot’s bare chest against him calm him.

He wishes he could just move on, but he has to say something. “I don’t want to feel bad about any of the stuff we do together.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Eliot whispers. “All the fluids were a little gross, you’re not gross.”

“I know.”

“Sorry.”

Quentin understands how big Eliot’s easy apology is, how rare it is for Eliot to take responsibility for little things that shouldn’t matter but do anyway.

Quentin wraps his arms tight around Eliot’s back and accepts it. It’s fine, he’s not gross, he’s safe to explore this the way he wants.

He feels a smaller frame along his back, and Margo rests her head against his shoulder. “I for one think you looked really hot covered in my jizz.”

“I’m glad someone appreciated it,” Quentin mumbles against Eliot’s chest, but he rubs his hands along his back to take the sting out of it. It’s fine, he hopes he’ll barely remember this uncomfortable part of the night. Knowing his brain, that’s unlikely, but a man can dream.

They stay like that for a good few moments, hugging and touching each other. Margo presses a stray kiss to his back, Eliot moves his hands up and down Quentin’s arms, and Quentin slips one hand down to stroke the top of Eliot’s ass. He’s surrounded by warmth and love, and the pit that had started to grow in his stomach releases.

Quentin can trust them.

Quentin lifts his head off Eliot’s shoulder and tilts his face, asking for a kiss. Eliot obliges, slowly kissing him, their mouths fitting together the way they’ve done for months, years in another life. It’s good, he’s good. He wants more, he wants to get back to that headspace where he’ll let them do anything to him. His cock has softened considerably, but that’s never stopped him before.

Quentin pulls back from Eliot’s lips. “Will you keep fucking me?”

Eliot looks into his eyes with such openness that he thinks his heart might explode. Eliot thumbs his nipple, making him hiss at the sensitivity, but he feels his arousal pooling in his gut again. Or still. He’s not sure if his desire ever truly abated or just went dormant for a bit. “I’ll fuck you, Q.”

Eliot looks over his shoulders and raises his eyebrows in a silent question, and Margo responds, “I don’t know if I can come again, but I can fuck you, Q.”

Quentin’s suddenly overcome with gratitude. “Thank you.”

“We’ve got you,” Eliot promises. “You’re gonna get hard again.”

Quentin nods his head, slipping into the moment, into his submission. He trusts that they’ll take care of him. There’s always a risk to that trust, but Quentin will keep giving it for as long as they’ll accept it.

Margo’s still resting her head against his shoulder, but he feels her slip a small hand around his cock. She cups and rubs him, letting his cock fill at its own pace. Eliot cradles his cheek and looks at him so intensely while he hardens, he feels caught under his gaze. “We’ll take care of you,” he reaffirms, and Quentin believes him.

This feels really nice. It’s a nice change of pace to the frantic feeling he had earlier where he just needed to _please please please_. Now he lets himself drift in the comfort of Margo and Eliot’s combined embrace while they touch him.

Margo marvels, “You’re so wet again.” And that’s ok, he’s allowed to be wet, he’s allowed to want as much as he wants.

Eliot kisses him, and his cock is getting harder and harder. His arousal spreads from his cock down his legs into his toes, and he has to focus on staying upright and steady between them.

“Please,” Quentin whispers. “Please...”

“What are you asking for?” Eliot brushes a hand down his face.

“Please let me come.”

“Oh,” Eliot looks at him with all the fondness in the world. “No.”

He starts to settle in to it, but asks again, “Please?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Fuck,” Quentin groans at the enormity of that, of his suspension between them and their desires, or really his own desires. “Fuck, yeah, ok.”

“You’re getting closer to the edge,” Eliot states like a fact not a question.

“Yeah-“

Eliot cuts him off. “Good boy.” Quentin moans.

Margo takes her hand off his cock before he’s quite there, giving him a moment to calm down at a plateau of pleasure before resuming her hand again. He curves his body inward, chasing the pleasure, but there’s no sense to it. He has no idea what he could possibly do to make them move faster or differently: they’re in control.

“Good,” Eliot keeps praising him, and Quentin eats it up. Margo focuses her hand right on Quentin’s sensitive cockhead, and he cries out at the sudden pleasure.

“Please, please-“

“No.”

Each no makes him feel freer, reminds him that they know what he wants and are determined to give it to him no matter how much he begs.

Margo pauses again - one, two, three seconds, barely giving him any time to calm down before starting her hand again. He’s getting to the edge now, can feel the start of his orgasm craving to build behind his navel, in his balls. He wants it so badly, but more than that he wants them to stop him.

“I’m close,” he whispers because he’s good. Margo takes her hand off him. She makes cooing noises against his shoulder and presses both her hands against his hips, fingers just touching his pubic hair.

Quentin wants to rub his cock against Eliot, but he won’t.

Eliot gently takes Quentin’s hands that had been clutching him, and pulls them around Quentin’s back. Oh.

“Keep them here,” Eliot tells him. Quentin nods his head, eyes wide and glassy with the command to stay still. He can do this. He has permission to let go and let them focus on him, and he’ll take it.

Eliot takes over cock duty from Margo. He glides his hand over and over him, wringing his pleasure out, and Quentin keeps his hands still but the rest of him can’t stop moving. His hips thrust towards Eliot, his shoulders hunch, his chest heaves. Quentin whines as Eliot keeps pulling him through it. He’s right there, right before the edge of coming, and Eliot stops touching him.

Quentin didn’t realize his eyes had closed, but he opens them again. “Whoa.”

Eliot’s touching his own cock now, and Quentin almost feels it in his. He wants to drop to his knees again and suck him off, but he has to keep his hands behind his back, has to let them play with him.

Margo pets his hips, soothes him through the intensity of his almost-climax. He turns to face her, and they let him, but he keeps his hands dutifully behind his back. Quentin kisses her, and her mouth opens up for him.

He can’t kiss her with finesse for long because Eliot starts touching him again, arm bracing him from behind, and he’s right back at the edge. Quentin breathes open-mouthed against Margo.

“I’m gonna come,” he warns. He’s so close so fast.

Eliot stills his hand but keeps holding his cock, and Quentin whines at the tease of feeling him gently resting against him without moving. He’s right there, right there.

Eliot lets go, but before he has a chance to catch his breath, Eliot runs just a finger up his cock. Quentin cries out at the light stimulation, body bowing, trying to move towards it, trying to move away. He doesn’t come, but he feels precarious.

“Fuck, don’t do that, I’m so close.”

Eliot wraps one arm tight around his stomach, then runs his finger over his cock again. Fuck, no, no, he’s too close. “No...”

Eliot stops. Quentin breathes for only a few seconds before Eliot starts his fingers again, just lightly touching him but it’s pushing him too close too fast, and he can’t come now after lasting so long.

Quentin wants to be good, but being clear feels more important right now. He grabs Eliot’s wrist, takes a second to collect himself, and says, “You’re allowed to push me, but don’t you dare make me come right now. Or I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Eliot pets his stomach. “I won’t let you come,” he promises.

Margo looks behind him, then back to him and says, “Relax, you’re ok. We won’t tip you over, right, El?”

Eliot keeps smoothing his hand on his stomach. “I won’t.”

Quentin sighs. “I trust you, just, please, I-“ he wants this so much, wants them to push him but he doesn’t know if he has anywhere left to be pushed.

Quentin lets his death-grip on Eliot’s wrist slacken, and Eliot dutifully takes his hand off his cock. Eliot clutches him close, his hard cock pressing against his back. Quentin holds Margo’s hips, seeking comfort but unable to pull her too close for fear of her brushing against his over-sensitive cock.

“I still want to fuck you tonight.” Eliot pauses. “Like, actually stick my dick in you fuck you, not just fuck you up.”

Quentin groans.

“Do you want that?”

“Yes, please fuck me, please let me come.”

“We’re not doing the second thing, but alright.”

Eliot touches his arm like he’s going to push him towards the couch again, but reconsiders.”I know some of the fun of tonight was fucking around out here, but I feel like we should have a bed for this.”

Eliot grasps his arm more firmly and steers him towards the bedroom, and Margo follows behind. In the bedroom, when Quentin turns, back of his knees hitting the bed, it looks like two predators are coming at him, hair wild and sex-mussed. He already feels so fucked up from them, and he knows he’s about to be completely ruined.

“Hey.” Eliot places both his hands on his head, holds him gently. “I love you.”

Quentin nods.

Eliot presses a kiss to his forehead. “On the bed.”

Quentin arranges himself on his back, his legs falling open and framing his hard cock.

Margo pats his leg, then cuddles into the chair in the corner. “I’m gonna watch.”

Quentin focuses in on Eliot focusing on him.

Eliot crawls his way up the mattress, pushing Quentin’s knees back further to give himself space.

Eliot does a few quick tuts, and lube collects in the palm of his hand. He runs his hand over Quentin’s tight hole

“Didn’t you just buy real lube?”

“Whatever, this is faster.”

Quentin rolls his eyes. “Just fuck me.”

Eliot hitches his legs up higher. “You give a guy a sliver of control and suddenly he’s Mr. Bossy-pants.”

“Fuck me. Please.”

Eliot’s eyes light up. “Much better.” He slides the first finger in, and Quentin bears down on the slight stretch. It’s weird to go from hours of touching his cock to suddenly touching his hole, like his pleasure has to reroute itself through his body. Quentin pushes his hands up above his head, sprawling out on the bed while Eliot slowly works into him and makes him feel even better than he has been all night. His cock is aching, but it’s also starting to go down a bit now that Eliot’s completely focused on his ass. Quentin doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved at the brief respite.

“You’re gonna open up so well for me.” Eliot kneads a hand into his asscheek while the other slides into him, slick. “You’ve been amazing so far, and you’re gonna be so good for me.”

“You’re amazing,” Quentin replies, and Eliot looks at him like maybe he doesn’t quite believe that, but he’ll accept it for now.

Eliot slips another finger inside, and he can feel the slick stretch of him, his fingers pulling apart and just trying to get him ready for his cock. Quentin relaxes and lets him fuck his fingers into him, lets himself focus in on the feeling and get back to that headspace where he’d do anything for them. He’s horny, but he’s not feeling the wild desire to just please them right now.

“You don’t even know how good your hole looks right now, you’re so loose already,” Eliot marvels. Quentin gives him a lazy smile at the compliment. Weird to have your asshole praised, but he’ll take it.

The chill vibe he was starting to sink into is broken by Eliot’s hand closing on his cock. Right, fuck, he’s not getting away with drifting in his body while Eliot fucks him tonight. They have a mission, and that mission is to edge Quentin until he spontaneously combusts. He’s not complaining, he asked for this, but holy fuck has this whole night been so goddamn intense.

Eliot moves his hands in tandem, fucking his hole and his cock at the same steady pace, and Quentin feels like he’s flying. The stretch, the burn, plus the hot ache of Eliot working his cock, it all mixes together to form the most intense thing he’s ever felt. And Eliot hasn’t even stuck his dick in him yet.

“You look like you took something.” Eliot laughs gently.

“What?”

“You look high as hell,” he rephrases, and, yeah he guesses he kind of is. High on feeling.

“Please,” he moans. “Fuck me.”

“I am fucking you,” Eliot teases.

“Please, I want your dick-“ Quentin’s cut off by his own cry as Eliot rubs intently over his cockhead.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I want your-“ Quentin groans at the twist of his wrist. “-your dick in me.”

“If you insist.”

Eliot holds his ass and guides his dick inside him, and Quentin loses it. Fuck, he’s always so big. The slow push inside, forcing Quentin to take every inch of him; it’s so intense. He lets out a long, drawn-out moan as Eliot gives him tiny, little thrusts to work the entire length of him inside.

“Good?” Eliot checks in.

Quentin nods. Eliot moves.

He starts faster than he usually does, working into him with a speedy pace born of a night of anticipation. Quentin so completely does not mind. With his hips tilted up, Eliot fucks against his prostate with each thrust, and he thinks that if Eliot were still touching his cock he might come straight away. It feels so goddamn good, and the pleasure works through his entire body in a way he didn’t even realize he was missing until he had it again.

With how tightly wound he is right now, this might actually be enough to make him come. The feeling is building deep inside him, and, fuck, he wants to keep letting Eliot use his body and wants him to come inside him, he doesn’t want to come. But it’s right there, right at the edge of his brain. He’s whining and shaking with it, his thighs trembling where Eliot is still holding them up.

“El-“ he starts to say, tries to warn him that it’s too much, it’s too good.

“El!” He says louder, and Eliot’s attention snaps to his face, and his hips pause their rhythm. Quentin takes deep breaths where he’s pinned on Eliot’s cock. He was too damn close.

“Were you about to come on my cock?”

Quentin nods, a pained expression on his face, the pleasure too much that he has no other way to express it.

Eliot considers for a moment, then hits his thigh. “Ok, hands and knees.”

Quentin is stunned that he has the faculties to move, but he manages to turn onto his hands and knees after Eliot slides out of him. Eliot moves so that his whole body is bracketing Quentin, and fits his cock back inside him. The angle still brushes past his prostate, but it’s not the onslaught it felt like before.

“Thank you, thank you,” Quentin moans. Eliot thrusts back and forth, building a rhythm again for his own pleasure. Quentin mostly just feels the stretch of his big cock inside him now, the push and pull past his rim to work him open. He feels simultaneously relaxed and so taught.

Eliot plasters himself along Quentin’s back and reaches a hand under him to play with his cock while he fucks him. Quentin’s eyes roll back in his head at the instant pleasure, the intensity of his touch-ravaged cock being built back to the edge that his ass just got him to. His body is completely out of his control. He’s just here to get fucked and tortured with the heights of pleasure. And Eliot, the absolute lovely bastard that he is, is working him up so well.

“So,” Quentin hears Margo announce from her chair. “I need a bathroom break, be right back.”

He can hear the rustle of her making her way towards the door, and the desire to be considerate pushes up through his submission. “Oh, should we pause-?”

Eliot cuts him off by slamming his body down against the bed and saying, “Nope, you’re staying right here.” And, oh my god, that does something to Quentin. Eliot crowds over him, pushing his whole body down against the mattress while he fucks into him. And now his legs are spread wider, his arms are folded beneath him, his face is against the bed- fuck, he’s pinned. He can’t move and he can’t do anything but take what Eliot gives him.

“You want me to hold you down, right?”

Quentin nods against the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut at the insane arousal coursing through him at something so simple.

Eliot pushes down with more of his weight than he usually gives him, pinning his arms and his back with his big hands, his ass with his cock. He lets out a helpless groan at the sensation.

“If you wanna fight, go for it.”

Quentin had almost forgotten about his request for the night.

Starting small, he tries to buck his hips up a bit, gentle so as not to topple Eliot off him or hurt him, but he barely moves. He bucks up a bit harder, but that only serves to thrust Eliot’s cock into him deeper and they both moan. He tries to move his hands up or away or anything, but Eliot grabs them and scuffles with him until he forces them back down to his sides. He lifts his head up to say something, anything, about how good it feels or maybe just to moan, and Eliot grabs the back of his neck and pushes his face against the mattress. And fuck, that does it. He feels helpless and overcome and loves Eliot so much and is so grateful that Eliot is confident enough to give him something that no one else has given him before.

He slumps against the bed, the tension and fight draining out of him and leaving him a pile of mush. Eliot lets him up to breathe, and he turns his head to suck in a gasp. Eliot’s hips give little thrusts inside him, and he really feels like he’s floating now. The pleasure is really intense, but he feels nowhere close to coming.

Eliot gently thrusts in and out of him, directs him, “Hump the bed, baby,” and Quentin moves his hips in small, jerky movements, just enough to give his cock some friction while Eliot fucks him open.

He hears the door open. Margo must be back.

“You missed something incredible, Bambi.”

“Oh yeah, what?”

“Quentin getting manhandled into oblivion.”

“Wait, seriously? I missed the wrestling portion of the evening? I was barely gone five minutes!”

“You snooze, you lose.”

“Can you do it again?”

“Lets see. Quentin-“ Eliot leans down closer to his ear, hands pressing down against his back. “Q, baby, can you move against me?”

Quentin grunts against the mattress. He’s beyond movement. He no longer has the energy or desire to fight Eliot. He wants to stay blissed out, his hole filled, his body surrendered, his cock feeling the sweet pressure of the sheets beneath him.

“Maybe next time.” Eliot pats his back.

Quentin is seeing stars. His body is so strung out, and Eliot moves hard inside him, fucking him open, fucking him so good. _Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come_ , he reminds himself. They don’t want him to come, but his body craves it. It’s too good, too much.

“Eliot,” Quentin whines. His hands scramble for a moment under him, needing reassurance. Eliot grabs them, pins them down, keeps him still while he drives into him.

“I’m here, I’m right here.”

Quentin’s face feels wet. For a moment he’s confused, thinking he has come on his face again, but then he realizes it’s tears. He’s crying. Fuck, it just feels so good, but so intense, and he wants to come so badly, and he wants _Eliot_ to come so badly that it’s literally welling up. “Please.”

“You’re so good, the best thing. The absolute best thing,” Eliot whispers into his neck.

He can barely process the words. All he knows is that he’s fucking gone.

“Please, Eliot.”

“I have you. You’re ok,” he presses deep inside him. “I’m about to come. You did this, baby, you’re making me come.”

Quentin gasps, tears still dripping down his cheeks. Quentin feels Eliot come inside him, pushing his come into him with his final thrusts.

Quentin is shaking.

Eliot pulls out, turns Quentin over, says “Quentin?” and pulls him against him. Quentin buries his face against Eliot’s shoulder and an embarrassing sob works its way out of him.

He feels a dip in the bed, and then Margo is on his other side, stroking his face, wiping the tears away. God, why is he crying?

Quentin laughs, still crying. “I, um, have no idea why this is happening.”

“It’s fine, we know you’re weird,” Margo says.

“I’m just, like, so horny I feel like I might die.”

Eliot caresses his face, swiping his tears away. “You’re beautiful.”

Quentin looks back at him, face probably splotchy and eyes swelling, and he doesn’t really believe him, but oh well.

“Are you still ok with the ten second countdown?”

Quentin barks out a wet laugh at the thought and his hand flies up to cover his mouth. He knows he’s acting so weird, but he’s lost his usual control of his stranger tendencies.

“No, I think I need to come right now. Please don’t make me stop again.”

Eliot considers him seriously, “For real?”

Quentin babbles, “Yes, yellow, green, I don’t know, just, for real, please make me actually, legitimately come.”

Eliot shrugs. “Ok.”

Eliot closes his fist around Quentin, and it feels like something inside him uncoils. Even just knowing he’s going to come lets him relax, give up the last thread of tension he’d been holding. He sinks into the mattress as Eliot works him over, and it feels amazing, and he’s been so close for so long that he knows he’s not going to last. But that’s ok. He doesn’t have to last any longer.

When he finally comes, it’s with a whimper not a bang.

Quentin gasps, his cock spurting over and over again, the pleasure coiling down his legs and through his entire body.

He’s still coming, the pleasure flowing out of him and leaving him a deflated balloon against the bed.

He can’t believe he’s still going, days and an entire night of pent up frustration spilling onto Eliot’s fist, his own stomach.

Eliot wrings the last few spurts from his cock, and Quentin is boneless. He blinks at his partners. He feels like all the tension spilled from his body and now he’s a husk of a person.

Eliot gets up, and Quentin makes a noise of resistance. “Towel,” Eliot explains, and ok, Quentin guesses that’s ok.

Margo is half-asleep next to him, her fingers tracing patterns over his bicep. “How are you?” Margo asks. She’s definitely not awake enough to deal with anything other than ‘good’, but he appreciates her asking anyway.

“Good,” he takes stock of his limbs. “Kind of feel like I got hit by a truck. But, like, a pleasure truck.”

Margo thumbs his chin. “You were really hot, Quentin. I don’t say that lightly.”

Quentin’s eyes light up as he remembers earlier. “Oh my god, you came so many times.”

“Don’t get a big head about it.”

He snuggles close and feels her relax against him. He thinks he loves her.

Margo drops the teasing and whispers into his skin, “You were great, Quentin. Did everything we wanted.” He smiles to himself at the continued praise.

Eliot comes back, wipes him up, and spoons him. Margo and Eliot cuddle him, and he feels so grateful that they can do this for him and let him be good for them in return.

“Was that good for you?” Eliot questions, a little later, after sufficiently petting him.

Quentin mumbles, “We can do the full debrief tomorrow.” He has a feeling debriefing will turn into morning sex, which he is here for. “But, yeah, you gave me everything.”

“I’d do anything for you.” And Quentin knows Eliot is talking about sex right now, but it feels weighty.

“I know. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Margo’s tight but quiet voice cuts in. “Will you two please stop talking? I’ve been ready for bed for the last thirty minutes.”

Quentin bops his nose against Margo, clutches Eliot’s hand to his chest, and falls asleep to the sound of his partners breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re reading this, drink some water!


End file.
